


Thief Prince

by Yuni30



Series: Nymph Hugs [17]
Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Video Game)
Genre: Belonging, Big Brothers, Brotherhood, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Childhood, Children, Communication, Communication Failure, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Gen, Lack of Communication, Protective Older Brothers, Where I Belong, birthriight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuni30/pseuds/Yuni30
Summary: It starts during childhood- it all starts at home. Sometimes, that's where the answer truly lays.(This work can also be found as a drabble chapter for "Nymph Hugs" over on Fanfiction.net along with its sibling works.)





	Thief Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Return of the Porcine Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/390938) by moonbird. 



> Am I ever going to stop writing for this character?! Hahaha… Probably. Eventually. It's bound to happen one day. Anyway, I'd like to think of this as the more improved version of the drabble "A Brother's Bond" I did a little bit ago. It's kind of a series of events this one.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Disclaimer: Yuni owns absolutely nothing here. She's just taking what she's given and elaborating on it.

Little prince Gascon, only seven at the time, giggled as he laid on the floor, skimming the pages of an old storybook filled with images of castles, epic heroes, and elaborate forts. He had grown tired of challenging himself with paper crafts, bored of his puzzles, and lacked the interest to practice his mandolin. He wanted to make something else. Something big. He propped his head up in his hands as he began to think about all the possibilities.

There were always the building blocks- he could build elaborate towers with those. He had actually made an elaborate puzzle once with them, just for the fun of it. He shook his head. He wanted to try something new. He thought of all the neat contraptions that he saw often whenever he followed his father to the lower levels of the palace. He thought of what it would be like to make things like that.

He looked at his tiny hands and flexed his fingers. Would he be able to create anything like that? He barely understood how half of the stuff worked. Maybe one day…

He frowned and looked back down at the book. It was open to picture of a large fort, a place for soldiers to hide away and defend, a safe zone. He loved the idea so much, he often found little hiding spots in the castle. One of the things he loved the most was trying to scare the guards. Most of the time, he failed, but that didn't stop the guards from laughing at his often-botched attempts. There were even some that gave him pointers on how to really sneak around. Those guards were the best ones.

Forts… He imagined having his own fort, despite living in a metal cased palace. He wanted to build his own. It would be an impenetrable fortress. It would be _his_ impenetrable fortress. He'd stand at the top commanding an army of men to defend it, much like he would if he became king. The difference was, this fortress would be built by his own two hands.

That was it. He was going to build a fort! He had to procure the materials for it… He looked at his four-post bed. He would use the sheets and the two posts furthest from the wall to make the top, the bed would be just part of the fort, a higher level, he imagined. He quickly yanked off the top sheet and tied it to the posts. Now he just needed something to tie it onto… He spied his chair in front of his vanity and decided it would do, imagining it as his lookout tower as he tied one corner to it.

It still wasn't complete, his fort. He looked over at the square box of blocks and pushed it to his fort. It wasn't high enough. He looked around the room again and found nothing to tie the other corner off. His fort would remain unfinished.

Suddenly his stomach grumbled and he looked down. Time for a snack, he wagered. He had built up quite an appetite. Rations! Every good fort had a supply of rations. He had to have his own stash!

He bolted out of his room and down to the royal kitchen. One of the royal chefs, a thin woman with blond hair was preparing part of their evening meal. Next to her was a plate of steamy golden rolls and a pile of black truffles. He never really tried one. They always served it with his and his father's evening meals, his mother being away all the time for some reason. He never got to see her and often forgot what she was even like. Nevertheless, he had always wondered if the truffles were just for show or to be eaten.

When he looked around, he saw a large steel pot, the exact size he needed to complete the fort. It would also serve as his ration container when he managed to get some. He grabbed the pot from the shelf and set it off to the side so he could grab it as he ran out. He peered over the side of the counter with glee, grinning a toothy smile from ear to ear.

"Prince Gascon," the girl yelped in surprise. She looked down at the little royal who decided to play the cute act. He swayed back and forth, shifting nervously in his tiny gilded red coat.

"Please, miss… can I have a snack," he begged, looking up.

She shook her head and went back to her work. "Your Highness, you must wait until dinner or you'll spoil your appetite." She ignored the pout he now sported. "Go on, run along and play."

Well, that was just brilliant. It seemed he'd have to be quick about it. He watched as she prepared the food and waited until he was sure she was distracted. When she looked away, he grinned again and grabbed four rolls and a truffle for the road. As he grabbed the truffle she spotted him.

"Hey, put those back you little thief," she shouted as he began to run to the cooking pot and deposit his ill-gotten gain. He snickered as he grabbed the handles, its cumbersome dimensions making it hard to run. He had to lean back to keep his speed up.

"I said stop! Prince Gascon, get back here this instant," she shouted as she gave chase. She ran past him as he ducked into a corner.

He laughed quietly as he ran around the corner to his room. He popped a roll into his mouth and tied the sheet to one of the handles. Finally, his fort was complete. Now all that was left was to make his army. He finished eating the roll and decided to try the truffle as a victory meal. When he bit into it, the flavor was so overwhelming that it almost made him cry. He spat it out immediately, wiping his poor tongue. Why did his father like those things? He threw it on the ground and glared at the fungus so prized by the Pig Iron Empire.

"I name you…," he began, pointing at the mushroom. "Prisoner Foul." He grimaced, the taste still lingering in his mouth. He gathered his toys and began assigning names and ranks to them. It was perfect. He crawled underneath the sheets with another bun in his mouth and pulled over a lamp, lighting it so he could look at a book filled with simple machine schematics. He would one day build something amazing.

There was a knock at his door and he shut off the lamp. He picked up the toy sword near his ramshackle fort and approached the door cautiously. "Who goes there," he playfully warned. "You are about to enter fort Gascon borders!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize my palace had such a formidable fort," a deep voice called back. It was his father, the Emperor. "May I speak with you, son."

Hesitantly, he opened one of the pink doors and peaked around it. He looked up to see a slightly displeased regal face. "Father," he quietly asked as he stepped back, opening the door more as he stepped around it.

"Gascon… You really shouldn't steal. It's unbecoming of a prince," he told his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. The boy looked down guiltily.

"I was going to give the pot back," he explained, looking up with his eyes. "It's not stealing if you're going to give it back."

The emperor raised an eyebrow at the child. "Oh, but you cannot give back the food you stole. You've eaten it. Even if you haven't, it's no longer fresh." He lent his hand out to the hall as he instructed the small boy. "You will apologize to the chef before dinner, is that clear, Gascon?"

The child looked up slowly and quietly nodded. He glanced back at his fort slightly and then his face lit up. "Father! Father," he eagerly shouted, almost jumping up and down. "Look at my neat fort! Built it myself, I did," he showed off confidently, gesturing to the makeshift hidey-hole behind him

"No need to shout, son. You have my attention." He looked back at the mess of sheets stretched over the pot, block container and chair. He had certainly put a bit of thought into it, though it was far from the armaments of the workshops. "Gascon, it's certainly a good start… but…," he hesitated.

The kid turned around to look up at his father. "But what," he wondered, tilting his head. "Is it because it's so weak?" He looked down, aware it wasn't a fort like in his storybook. "I know that…"

The emperor stepped back and shook his head. "No, no… It could just use some reinforcement," he advised, his statement immediately contradicted by the pan falling in on the fort. They both winced when it hit the ground and allowed half of the fort to cave in.

"Aww… Goodbye, fort…," he disappointedly sighed. He turned back to his father with a downcast head.

"Chin up, son. Even in defeat, a Hamelin prince does not show weakness," he reminded his son, taking a hand and lightly guiding the boy's head up. "I'm sure you and your fort had a good run. You should take pride in that," he said as he withdrew his hand. Gascon nodded, though his disappointed frown still remained. The emperor turned and looked back at the heir to the throne. "Come, now. It is time for your evening magic training."

Though silent, the boy nodded again and began to follow his father to his private chambers to hopefully strengthen his magic abilities.

~*~*~

He had never particularly liked the newest addition to his family during the first months of the newborn's life. It seemed all and any attention had been diverted to little Prince Marcassin. He started to resent him even more for showing signs of magic use. All that practice since he was six! And for what? For five whole years, he could barely muster up a tiny spark of light from a wand. It wasn't even enough to light a fire!

It wasn't the law about sages becoming emperors. He started to not really care about all that, anyway. It became rather dull- listening to his father drone on and on about politics, history, and somehow, science. How could one make _science_ , one of his favorite subjects, seem so… so _boring_? The only part of his lessons that weren't dull were the combat training portions that had seemingly replaced his magic training. Perhaps it became apparent that he'd never be able to cast spells. And for a time, that was fine with him.

 _"You have to go all out in both defense and attack at the right moment, Gascon. Right when it really matters. If you are able to do that, you will have no issue standing your ground- even in the most harrowing of circumstances,"_ the eleven-year-old recalled his teacher's recent lesson. He wasn't entirely wrong, he reasoned. It was a sound strategy.

No, he resented Marcassin for becoming the singular focus of his father's eye. Whenever Marcassin seemed to show a different sign of what magical spells he was capable of, his father would stop everything- lessons, talks, and even meetings just to catch it.

When Gascon showed promise of being an inventor, so what? There were thousands of inventors in Hamelin, literally. He was nothing special, compared to Marcassin. Whenever he had a new gadget or design he wanted to show, Marcassin would steal his thunder. He began to feel quite ignored. He began to feel like yesterday's news.

He began to feel the weight of the crushing truth that he wasn't needed- that if Marcassin's powers were to become more focused, Gascon would be thrown out like an outdated piece of tech.

 _I'm here, father._ He had thought as he stood in the doorway of the nursery. He was summoned by his father, for what he didn't know. The man was cooing over the baby in the crib. It was kind of amusing to see such a strong figure so enthralled by a baby. He would have laughed if he weren't so bitter.

The emperor turned around and nodded curtly at the prince. "It has come to my attention that you haven't been able to spend as much time with your little brother as you should, Gascon," he announced. Their father looked down at the now sleeping infant. He looked back at the confused boy. "I want you two to have a healthy relationship. You are brothers, after all." He solemnly nodded, sealing his next order. "You are to spend an hour each day watching him until I say so."

"An hour," the eldest prince exclaimed, flinching. "Don't we have servants to watch him," he sulked, crossing his arms. Between lessons and training, there was already so little of his precious personal time before being forced to bed by his father or that mentioned help. Another chunk of his day, gone- given to the little brat that had completely overshadowed him, replaced him in his father's heart.

"The servants are not his family," his father reminded him harshly. "You must remember, Gascon- in the end, you are his older brother, his only brother. There may be a time when you are all he has- when he is all you have." The emperor walked up to his eldest son and looked down at the spoiled eleven-year-old. "It is best to build this bond now through the lesson of responsibility for yourself and others." With that, he left him with the cryptic message.

The prince approached the cradle and peered down at the still sleeping Marcassin. He didn't know what all the fuss the emperor was making for. He looked like a normal baby. He looked like any baby he'd see a mother carry whenever he followed his father into the city on errands. While his lectures were dull, the emperor believed in a hands-on approach when it came to knowing the kingdom- one of the more effective approaches with the boy.

He stuck his nose up literally at the infant resting peacefully in the crib. So what if he showed signs of one day wielding magic. It didn't mean he'd be any good at controlling it… Maybe they'd both fail at obtaining the title of sage. Maybe his father would stop doting on his infant brother and treat him with equal praise.

He just stared down at the curled-up baby with his thumb in his tiny mouth. "Don't do that, you'll mess up your teeth," he whispered harshly, recalling a parent in the city reprimanding their own child. Agitatedly, but gently, he reached down and pulled Marcassin's arm, effectively removing the thumb without waking him. When he looked to the side and back again, the thumb was back in the small mage's mouth. "Damn it," he hissed, looking around for something to replace the thumb. When he found nothing, he just shrugged exaggeratedly and glared at his little brother. "Fine, ruin your teeth! See if I care," he chastised him quietly. For the next hour, he decided to sit in the chair opposite the crib.

He spent a lot of that hour of his days like that. Marcassin would be already napping and he'd have nothing to do. By the end of the second week, he began carrying books on machinery and weapon designs with him to read as the little brother slept. He had to give him that, the baby gave him some time to quietly read.

Then one day, in the middle of his little reading session as he waited for his father to fetch him, a cry from the crib sounded. He leaned away from the loud wails of his younger brother, shocked at the noise. He placed his book on lock picking tools down and got up to check on him.

He carefully picked up the baby clad in light purple pants and a blue shirt. He didn't stink, so he was still clean. He recalled his father saying that he had been fed already. Was he really hungry again? He carefully held him placing a hand under the one-year-old's bottom and holding him to the side of his chest. "Ssh… ssh," he hushed him, patting his back lightly. He frowned when he wouldn't quiet down… maybe he _was_ hungry. He called on a servant after laying him down to bring whatever Marcassin usually ate- he didn't know. He was hardly around when they fed him.

Hardly around… like their mother. He looked down after the servant left, looking at the child who had managed to stand on his feet and lean against the crib, still balling, red in the face. Right now, he was all little Marcassin had. It would be a few minutes until the servant returned with the toddler's food.

Until then, he'd have to find another way to soothe his brother. He wandered down the hall to his room and picked up the mandolin he had received when he was seven. He wasn't spectacular but he had quite a bit of practice. Maybe he could distract his future sage of a brother with a tune. He smirked as he quickly tuned the mandolin and ran down the hall with it.

He opened the door to a still unsatisfied infant prince and smiled gently despite the discomfort in his ears. "Oh, Marcassin," he softly called, holding up his instrument. "I know you're hungry, but food might be a while," he said in a sing-song manner, beginning to strum a pleasant tune. "Until then, me and Lucy here, we're going to entertain you, alright," he hummed, grinning as he heard his brother's sobs slowly cease.

With that, he neared his crib and played a lullaby his father used to sing to him. He felt a warm feeling in his chest when he saw the little tyke smile. The baby laughed as he listened to his brother's song, though he had no idea what the older boy was singing. When the song ended, Marcassin awkwardly reached up and pressed the bridge of Gascon's nose and right cheek. "Bra-bra," he named him with what limited vocabulary he had.

The older prince couldn't help but giggle. At least he knew who his brother was. With a soft smile, he looked down at the infant. "Yes, Marcassin. I'm your brother," he said with a chuckle. "Gascon," he reinforced happily. He closed an eye reflexively as a small hand lightly smacked his brow.

"Gas-ca," he tried to repeat, pulling on the older boy's cheeks.

Close enough, Gascon thought, slightly uncomfortable with the attention his face seemed to be getting. "You really like my face for some reason…," he observed simply as he removed the toddler's hands. All he received were more smiles and giggles from the black-haired infant prince. Again, Marcassin called out, "bra-bra," giggling more when his older sibling reached up and turned the mobile of dancing pigs to help keep him entertained.

He understood now… He had to look out for him- that was his purpose. Even if his little brother were to surpass him, he was still needed as his older brother. Until Marcassin could fend for himself, he would continue to watch over him. He returned to the nursery every day since then with that in mind, only carrying a book to read to his brother, the little prince enjoying the sound of his brother's voice and probably even learning a few words. If he were sleeping, he'd read that book anyway.

He swore to himself to watch out for him.

~*~*~

What was wrong with him…? Was he broken? At the age of fourteen, he should have been able to master the most basic of spells. Yet, his brother at the age of _four_ happily entertained himself by casting fireball on any and all candle he found before blowing it out with an innocent giggle.

He knew what this meant as he marched to the emperor's chambers for his daily lessons. They had all the power and fortune any peasant could ever dream of, enough to hire the best tutors in the world. Did they use it? No… The Emperor insisted on teaching his sons himself when he wasn't needed by the empire or the rest of the world. In times like those, _that's_ when the secondary tutors would come into play. They followed the same strict regimen the emperor did- boring lecture after boring lecture. They let him and Marcassin go early for "self-study" in place of practice since the Emperor had a particular way of training them.

Another day of failed magic training and lectures meant to groom him into the future emperor his father thought he would be- all with an unnecessary dose of martial arts training, the boy thought.

He stopped, halfway from his room to the center hallway. What was the point? He knew deep down he'd never be able to compare to his younger brother. He slowly continued to walk, knowing full well he'd be late for his instruction.

"You're late," his father greeted, arms crossed as he watched his oldest walk through the pink double doors.

Little Marcassin sat on the couch, peacefully observing them. "Brother," he cheered, smiling at the sullen older boy.

He flashed a small smile at the tot on the sofa. When he looked back at his father, he couldn't help but think of how little value he must be now to him. "So? What would I get out of it," he snapped at his elder. "What good am I? What good are these- these lessons if I'm not needed," he complained, shaking his head. No… that wasn't true. He _was_ needed. Marcassin needed him. When their father wasn't available, Gascon was there for him. Even so, he didn't need lessons for that.

The emperor was silent for a moment. He needed these lessons regardless of his power. "Because you are a prince. They are necessary for your survival."

He rolled his brown eyes. "Hah! That's a laugh!" He placed his hands on his hips and glared at his father. "You have the only prince you'll ever need sitting on that couch behind you!" He wagged a finger at the four-year-old.

"Don't talk about your brother that way," the emperor roared, stomping forward.

Gascon crossed his arms and tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling. "If anyone talked about me that way, you wouldn't care. You only care because he's the only one who's worth anything to you." He looked back at his father and only his father. His resolve would plummet if he looked at Marcassin, now. He always looked so hurt when his older brother diminished his own self-worth.

"Be still," the emperor boomed, marching up to the defiant prince.

"Why should I be still? Do I offend you? All I've ever been is a disappointment! I've never been good at magic. I'm not even that great at fighting in general! Whatever inventions I come up with don't even impress you because it's always Marcassin!" He threw up his hands and began to pace in front of the glowering emperor, refusing to make eye contact with him or anyone else. "He's the perfect fit! I'm nothing but a waste of time, an outdated machine, the way you treat him!"

"How dare you…," the man growled, his fists tight and barely containing his rage. "How dare you assume such things!" He turned away before he could say or do anything more. All the oldest heard was the raw seething, hissing, and growling anger of the ruler of Hamelin. He turned around and intensely, coldly stared at Gascon. "Get out," he ordered, pointing at the door. "Until your behavior changes, you will not be welcome here!"

"Finally decided to throw me out, have you?! Fine! I _will_ leave," he shouted back. "Have fun grooming your replacement!" With that, he stormed out through the same pink doors he had just entered.

"Brother," Marcassin called worriedly after him, pushing himself off of the couch. He was stopped by a strong hand clapping over his shoulder. He looked hesitantly up at his father.

"Leave him. You have your own lessons to attend to," his father bitterly indicated, picking up a book. He began to read from it aloud and reinforce its lessons with pointed questions. When he noticed his youngest son wasn't listening and still hadn't sat back down, he closed the book. He looked down at the four-year-old. "Marcassin? Will you have a seat? You must stay focused." The toddler shifted his gaze a little but didn't look up. "Marcassin, now is not the time to-"

"Am I- am I a bad person," Marcassin quietly asked his father. "Brother's so mad because of me." Tears started to form in his eyes. "I don't want him to be mad," he cried, stomping his small feet. "I want Gascon to be happy!"

Right, he was still worked up about that. With a gruff sigh, he approached his son and knelt down to his level. "We can't help how your brother feels," his father stated as he rubbed the young prince's back. "He's bitter because I haven't had the time to pay as much attention to him as I have with you." He closed his eyes before he focused again on his pupil. "It's not your fault, Marcassin. I am partly to blame."

Marcassin shook his head, biting his fingernails out of stress. "Father… I don't want Gascon to leave…"

"He isn't going to leave," he tried to comfort his son.

"Yes, he is! He's going to leave and it's because of me," the four-year-old argued, pushing past his teacher and running to the door. He turned around and angrily glared at his father. "He'll leave because of me and because you yelled at him!" He ran out of the room as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

The emperor sat alone in the throne room with his arms limp at his sides. He managed to push both of them away. Marcassin was only four- he didn't understand. It was way more complicated than that- it wasn't black and white. He cared for them both immensely. He found it difficult to connect with his eldest. He was at that age- the age of rebellion, of taking things too seriously. He wondered how he could get through to him. He wondered what he was doing wrong.

As Marcassin ran in search of his brother, he sniffled. He had to stop him. He had to keep him from leaving him behind. Who would play with him? Who would tell him stories or comfort him? He couldn't let his only friend disappear.

He ran to his brother's room and had no such luck. He ran to the kitchen- Gascon often pilfered a snack when the chefs weren't looking- and didn't find the older prince. He searched everywhere, even his own room in the palace. Finally, exhausted, he sat on his small bed. He stared down at the floor. He couldn't find him. He was… gone.

He began to cry again, laying on his side, not bothering to pull the sheets over his head. He curled up into a tiny ball. Where did Gascon run off to? Had he really run away? …Did he do something to make him mad at him?

He had to apologize to him. He got up, stumbling out of the bed and walked out of his room to try to find his brother again. There was one place he didn't check: the training grounds of the palace. He didn't know why he would be there, but it was his last remaining option.

He took the long walk down to the training hall. It was one of the few places other than some of the city streets that was constructed out of stone bricks. Nothing beat straw dummies for practice, it seemed, since those were often used here, too. When he walked through the entrance, he saw the back of a familiar short gilded bright red coat. He smiled widely, excitedly and ran up behind him. He hugged his waist, pushing the teen a little.

"Ack," Gascon yelped, the weapon in his hands misfiring and the pellet hitting the stone wall near the dummy. He looked down at the boy holding him. "M-Marcassin," he stammered, feeling his little brother nuzzle the back of his leg.

Marcassin looked up with concern. "Don't leave me alone," he shouted. "I'm sorry! Please don't leave, Gascon!"

"Wha-what…?" He could only stare in disbelief down at the toddler of a prince. "I'm not going anywhere! What are you on about?"

"You said you were going to leave," the tiny mage explained, hugging his brother tighter. "Don't go," he demanded, burying his head in the back of Gascon's leg again.

"I just said- Marcassin," he started to complain. "Would you get off of me?!" He tried to pry his tiny arms off of him but to no avail. He was bound and determined to keep him there.

The younger prince shook his head and looked back up at his older brother. "Nuh-uh! If you try to leave then- then I'll just go with you!"

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at his brother's statement. "Are you crazy?! Why would you do that?! You have duties to fulfill, remember," he quickly reminded him. Marcassin didn't let go or did he answer. This was suddenly not up for debate. The older prince rolled his eyes. "Alright… Fine. I give up," he compromised, though he found it pointless- he already said he wasn't going anywhere.

Marcassin's grip slightly loosened as he looked up hopefully.

"I'll stay- on one condition." He raised a finger as he looked down at his brother. "I'm going to help you practice magic." He smirked when he heard the toddler gasp in gleeful excitement. "When you're strong enough to hold your own, then I'll leave."

"You- you mean it, brother," he asked eagerly. He smiled happily up at him.

"Yeah. I mean it. I may not be able to actually cast spells, but I know my truffles on the matter." He gave a confident wink.

Marcassin hugged him tighter again, this time out of comfort and relief. "Gascon," he cried happily. "Thank you!" He let go of him, his worry put to rest for the time being. Gascon turned to him and messed with his hair with a thoughtful hum.

He promised to look out for him. Always.

~*~*~

As Oliver and the others went down to retrieve the legendary wand, the two brothers sat on top of the stone slab covering the grave. Gascon seemed lost in thought, more than usual lately. Marcassin had a haunting feeling of what it was.

He had shown his true magic capabilities. He had proven his ability to hold his own. He looked up hesitantly at his older brother, now nineteen. "Is it time, Gascon?"

Gascon raised his head sharply, looking off into the distance. He smiled sadly at his little brother. He took a long look into the young mage's blue eyes before nodding. "You'll be fine, Marcassin. You should be."

Marcassin looked down for a moment at the ground. He still didn't want him to leave. He knew he couldn't stay, either. There was nothing to keep him here any longer. "What will you do? Where will you go?"

"I haven't the slightest clue," Gascon answered with a smirk. "Maybe I'll become a pirate! Or I'll make a kingdom of my own! Or- or maybe I'll be like that weirdo with the messy hair and the green coat who thinks he knows better than a prince!" He scoffed at his last thought. What did that man know about his life…? He kind of found it inspiring- even if it were a little insulting- that he held no reservation for his status as a prince. To defy someone like that… he wondered if he would ever be able to do the same.

"I'll… I'll miss you, Gascon," the tiny wizard whispered, hugging his brother from the side. "Please come back!"

He couldn't help but smile and pet the top of Marcassin's head. "I will. One day."

~*~*~

They would soon depart to the tombstone trail to find Mornstar. They found some time to relax beforehand, some time to process that they had indeed been flung into the past, and some time to contemplate their actions. If they altered one thing, there was a chance the entire world as they knew it in their time would change.

Even as the thief knew this, he wished he could change it all. He wished for a better outcome, a better future, even. Logic reasoned that it was wiser to beat Shadar in their own time- that if the events didn't play out, the four of them would never have met, to begin with. There were consequences to his actions as with everything else.

He was forced to let it all happen: to watch his past self make one bad decision after another, permitting every self-destructive behavior that eventually resulted in the man he was now. It hurt to stand in his father's presence in such a state. If he knew… then it would only prove how right he was- that Gascon really was worthless, talentless, and unfit to hold any power. Who was he kidding? The Emperor already knew that. He'd just be putting himself through even more turmoil by revealing his identity. Best to let the fool remember his son as the well taken care of brat- not that he cared about his fate.

He heaved a sigh as he stared out the window in one of the halls of the palace, observing the bronze streets of Hamelin. It was his element, his city. Even without his birthright, he could at least safely call it that based on his knowledge. He knew every street, every building in that time period. He could always find his way out, no matter where he ended up there. Regardless of his regret, his guilt, he found comfort in the familiarity of his hometown.

"Enjoying the view," a commanding regal voice asked from beside him. Swaine flinched, and looked to the side, seeing the lion of a man standing next to him with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. He also looked out the window at the city, keeping a watchful eye of his domain.

He leaned back to look out the window. He didn't speak and kept a straight analytical air around him despite the sudden nervousness he felt. He thought back to the last time he witnessed his younger self talk to his father. It would have been their last exchange- his last words to a dead man. If only he had known.

He crossed his arms, thinking on it more. The Emperor had seemed so shocked that his older son wasn't in the picture. Did he really expect anything from him? "Just what do you want from Gascon, anyway…? He won't be the emperor you want him to be. That ship sailed a _long_ time ago."

The proud man next to him shifted his gaze to analyze the future form of Gascon. There was no mistaking it, those features, those eyes. As an adult, he had the same stocky build of his father, just thinner with less muscle. It became quite apparent he needed a shave- facial hair was apparently a trait never passed down to him. The same could be said for the shape of his chin.

How ragged and worn he looked, how desolate a state he had fallen into… it wounded him. Had he really pushed him that far- to run away, to become the wretched figure peering out the window next to him? He felt guilty for not being able to reach him. What had he said or done to make him resent him so? "I want him to be his own person. I want my son to be strong."

The thief turned, letting his arms fall. He raised an eyebrow and frowned disappointedly. "Oh, do you, now? Without magic, he's worthless to the throne…" He put a hand on his hip and looked down. "That's all you've ever wanted him to be, right? You've always been disappointed in him- That's why you favor Marcassin, so."

"And what do you know of what I want for my children," the lion of a man boomed, turning to face Swaine with a menacing glare. "I care for them both equally! They are _both_ gifted but if Gascon should continue to live in Marcassin's shadow, he will never realize his own potential."

Swaine stomped and shook his head in a fit. "Then why don't you tell Gascon that," he shouted, throwing a hand out to the hall. "You seem to have this issue with communicating with him…"

He knew it was a fruitless attempt, but he dared to try. "You need to tell him- as his _father_ , not the Emperor of Hamelin! He needs to know he's needed, that you actually give a damn about his well-being!" He breathed heavily. It always, no matter the form he took, ended up with someone shouting at one or the other. When he looked up at the cold callous unmoved face of his father, he knew it was one of those kinds of arguments. He wouldn't get anywhere. He threw his hands up and sighed, turning back to the window. There wasn't a point.

The still silence between them, overpowering the distant hissing of steam and the constant shifting of gears in the machine empire, invaded the conversation... As the emperor stood in thought, contemplating the thief's words, his son stewed in his sense of defeat and anguish.

"I… thought he knew. I've given him everything he could ever ask for. Every opportunity to simply be himself, I've allowed it," the emperor softly admitted, glancing over at Swaine. "You must know, I just want what's best for him- but he's old enough to find his own way and he won't find it following his little brother around."

The thief shook his head again. He couldn't argue there… He wouldn't have discovered half of what he knew had he not ran away. He recalled what he said to himself on the Tombstone Trail, that his father wouldn't care if he disappeared. How wrong he knew he was now that he was older. He only hoped he didn't have to suffer long after he found out. Then again, he wouldn't wish the last thought in his mind to be failing his son either.

Even if it meant changing the future, he didn't want that to happen, "He needs your support, for you to notice him as much as Marcassin. I know you want him to be independent- that's fair. He won't be a kid forever…" The rugged man tilted his head at the king, letting a sad smirk creep up on his face. He shook his head and turned away, beginning to walk down the hall. "You might want to consider giving him that support soon," he advised bitterly. A hand clapped his shoulder, stopping him. He looked back to see his father's stern expression.

He knew no matter what this man said, there was no changing the eventuality of the future. He didn't know his eldest son's story. The horrors that came to mind scared him. It made the great ruler of Hamelin of the past worry for Gascon even more so. If this was what was to become of him perhaps there was one way he could change the future for the better. This was the last and final way he could help his son. "If you should see Gascon in your time, wherever he may be, I must ask you to relay a message to him."

Swaine turned around and crossed his arms. He threw a sour look as the emperor removed his hand from his shoulder. "I might be able to give it to him. Depends- What is it," he slyly agreed, looking away from his father.

The Emperor sighed and looked down. He raised his hands to study them. "Tell him I wanted him to realize his place in the Empire is here- his home," he began to admit. "I wanted him to look out for his family, to be by his brother's side, not subversive under his reign." He breathed heavily through his nose, closing his eyes.

The thief's head swiveled back to attention, shocked at what he heard. The emperor was opening up to him for once. He didn't dare interrupt- he knew this was something he needed to hear from him whether the ruler realized it or not.

"I wanted him to see that his place is protecting his people, even at the risk of losing the capitol itself- and I want him to do it in the only way Gascon can," the emperor preached, his hands balled up in tight fists in front of him. He looked up toward Swaine. "And most importantly, I want him to be proud of his own abilities, not just his brother's. I want him to take pride in himself!" He smirked at the man in front of him. Even if he were older now, he could still tell when his lectures had made an impact on his eldest- it was the thoughtful, downcast eyes and the silence that followed when he had no response.

"You could tell him now," The thief slowly observed in a hushed whisper, fighting back the urge to reveal his identity.

The emperor scoffed. "I'm no fool. You and Gascon are a lot alike. Perhaps he'd listen to you better than I." He shrugged and turned away. "He might have matured a bit, even," he masked a compliment as he began to depart.

Swaine lifted his head. "I'll… I'll be sure he gets that," he promised him. Perhaps there wasn't a way to change their past relationship after all. Perhaps his father hoped he'd realize what he wanted eventually. He looked at his right hand and began to wonder, even if he were proud of his own abilities as the emperor wanted, was the emperor proud of him? What he had become now? Did he know that he had just entrusted the country to a thief, a lowlife?

No. He had to count himself more than that. They were going to stop the Dark Djinn. He was going to save Hamelin right alongside the rest of the world with Oliver and the others. He would prove himself more capable than he ever thought he would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Oooh boy! I thought I was insane for writing five-thousand words. Yikes! Guess it goes to show when you give someone an interesting character you get a drive to explore them more- no matter the stakes!
> 
> In any case. I really wanted to explore the relationship between the Emperor and Gascon some more. We get to see so little interaction besides them arguing with each other. I kind of had to extrapolate from what comments were made during the Hamelin arc about him as well as some analysis given to me by [moonbird](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1576308/). (She really seems to give me a lot of inspiration for this stuff. Honestly, I'd give her half credit for this entire series if I could.) Having little to go on kind of makes him a tough subject to write about.
> 
> At any rate, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have any thoughts, feel free to share!


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